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[disarrayed]

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[mygoodsir]

Are you?

[Asked me in curiosity than in doubt.

His arms slip around Will's waist.]

I never stopped thinking of you.

What can I do for you now? You can ask for anything, anything at all.

[disarrayed]

[ he tightens his hold on the other man, smoothing a hand up his back, grounding himself in the person he first met here, and here he is meeting again after death. ]

You don't need to do anything for me.

[ why should he repay the house's debt? ]

We should probably figure out if our rooms are in one piece or not. [ a sigh, and he buries his face into harry's shoulder. the pain in his gut feels real still, even if it's all healed over. ]

Make a new place for new snails.

[mygoodsir]

But I want to. I swore I'd bring your killer to justice, and I didn't. I failed you, Will.

[Harry clings to him, a single sob escaping his throat. But when he can speak, he does so steadily enough.]

Oh. I've been given a room. A large one, with tanks and display shelves. We shall keep the smails there. It's our own little museum.

I. Tim's going to move into my room. Is that alright? Sharing the suite with the two of us? He's left Hawkins. So that's... I want to say it's good, because I'm pleased to have him, but... I feel awfully about it, too.